One day, I’ll be healed.
I don’t know when that’ll happen- or if I’ll be healed at all.
Chances are that I may not. But something tells me that I will.
This pain that holds me, that feeds on my soul and drenches myself of me, everyday, in it’s own random pace, in fits and starts, would, one sunny day, be gone forever and shall never return.
One day, I’ll stop looking back at the paths I have walked past, stop looking down into the old pits where I’ve dwelled in despair, and run with gait in the present tread, joyously towards the promise of a happy, non-volatile future.
Someday, these bruises on my memory shall cure and conceal and it’ll sting no more to remind me of their existences begone.
That day, I’ll laugh– wholeheartedly and genuinely. I’ll cry– and I’ll scream and shout at the joy of being able to feel.
Because it’s been really long. This misery, this pain, this wrench– it’s stayed for years now. And despite the efforts, they seem to keep on increasing all this while. They’ve definitely overstayed their stay; to such that they have now started to address me as their home– I’m not.
I’m not what I am going through. I’m not what consumes me. Beneath it all, beneath these tentacles and shackles of the yearnings and their causes, there still is a child of the soul, holding on, fighting with all he has got. He’s wounded. He’s crying. But he’s not giving up.
He is alive. And so is the hope–
Tiny David shall slay the Giant.
Someday. One day. Eventually.